


Tell Me So

by Melawen_C



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Coda, Episode Related, Episode: s04e10 The Herald of a New Age, Fate, First Time, M/M, Memory Related, Misunderstandings, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-17
Updated: 2013-02-17
Packaged: 2017-11-29 15:08:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/688350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melawen_C/pseuds/Melawen_C
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur is still upset after the experience with Elyan at the Druid shrine (4x10: Herald of a New Age) and Merlin tries to put his doubts to rest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell Me So

**Author's Note:**

> Because the show is still messing with my fangirl feelings, this happened. *sighs* I don't know where this ending came from, either... It's not my usual style, but I unapologetically stand by it. <3

Merlin loves the feeling of _night_ as it settles over Camelot. 

During the day, the halls are impressive in their own right (he’s never lost that sense of awe he gets at seeing it every day), but when darkness starts to push out the light, he thinks he loves it even more.

The shadows flicker on the walls as he makes his way down to the armory, hoping to find Arthur there. The king was not in his chambers and Merlin noticed his armor, which he had set aside on the table, was missing as well.

Quietly, in the doorway, Merlin stops and watches his king.

It’s quite strange, he considers, seeing someone else do his work. It’s even stranger that it’s Arthur.

But, there he sits, polishing his own armor. As Merlin peeks in, he has a moment to take in Arthur’s expression, unguarded. He looks lost, like the boy Merlin never knew, but has tried to imagine countless times.

He hates that look on Arthur’s face. He doesn’t see it often, but it tugs at his insides, wraps him up too tightly and all he wants to do is touch him and comfort him and probably _not_ talk because, while Arthur is learning to appreciate him more, he’ll still most likely be called an _idiot_ or a _girl_ or something like that.

He knows Arthur hasn’t been sleeping well… not since the incident with Elyan at the Druid shrine. Now he thinks there might be more to it than he’d realized.

Arthur looks up, caught, at the _creak_ of the door. When their eyes meet, he merely shakes his head.

“Should’ve known it’d be you.”

Merlin steps cautiously into the room.

“Didn’t even think you knew how to do that,” he teases, gesturing to the armor.

“Very funny,” Arthur replies, looking down as he works.

“Why are you down here?” Merlin finally asks.

“Needed some space,” Arthur says quietly.

“Space?” Merlin prompts.

“Yes,” Arthur snaps. “I wanted to think and… be alone.”

Merlin makes his way slowly across the room, knowing he’s intruding, but also knowing this is where he belongs… even if Arthur doesn’t agree.

“So, you want me to leave?” 

“No,” Arthur mutters, “it’s fine.”

He sets down his armor and rises to his feet, while Merlin waits, uncertainly. Arthur, when he’s in an introspective mood, is a fickle creature.

“Do you want to talk?” he asks hesitantly.

Arthur leans against the wall and says nothing, but he doesn’t glare or insult Merlin for the offer, either. He’s silent for a long time before he speaks.

“The druid,” he begins, eyes not meeting Merlin’s, “his spirit was restless, all these years. How many others are out there, suffering, because of things I’ve done?” 

He thinks about how Arthur asked for forgiveness, how he’d genuinely cried in remorse. Merlin meant it when he told him how moving it was to see that. Arthur keeps his emotion buried so much that, when he does let it show, Merlin can’t help but crave more. He steps closer and rests his shoulder on the wall to mirror Arthur. He desperately wants to touch him, but doesn’t.

“You can’t blame yourself. You were obeying your father. You were young, Arthur; you did what you had to.” 

Arthur shakes his head.

“But I knew…” he confesses, “so many times he gave me orders and I _knew_ it was wrong. I wanted him to be proud of me then, wanted it enough that I did it anyway. I was weak. I’ve always been weak.”

There are tears in Arthur’s eyes as he speaks and Merlin can feel them building in his own, as well, hot and angry as he thinks about the hold Uther has over his son, so strong that even in death, Arthur can look at his own life, his legacy, and only see shortcomings. 

“Oh, Arthur,” he breathes. “He was the one who was weak. He was angry and bitter and _wrong_ about so much. You are stronger than he ever gave you credit for. You’re a good king, Arthur – a better king than he was.”

Merlin hopes he hasn’t crossed a line, but he won’t take those words back. Arthur needs to know; he needs to hear it over and over until he knows it’s true. Arthur looks at him – just _looks_ , like he’s trying to see inside Merlin, to see if he can believe him.

Finally, he shakes his head and turns away. Merlin takes a deep breath, his thoughts spinning. 

“Yeah, well you’re my servant; of course you’d say that.” 

Merlin recognizes the playful tone of his dismissal: as arrogant as Arthur can be, he really doesn’t take compliments very well. Merlin finds the contradiction oddly endearing. He rolls his eyes. 

“And when do I _ever_ do what servants are supposed to?” 

That, at least, earns him a smile and Merlin knows they’re alright, for now. 

“You don’t realize how good you have it here, Merlin,” Arthur shoots back, with that smug little grin Merlin loves, even if he’ll never admit it. 

“Oh, is that so? If you could be your servant for a day, you’d know that’s not true.” 

Arthur makes a face, as he goes to pick up his armor. “I’m not that bad, am I?” 

Merlin just laughs. “Leave it,” he says, tugging Arthur’s sleeve. “I’ve got to have some work to do tomorrow.” 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Back in Arthur’s chambers, they’re both quiet and Merlin can tell Arthur is still thinking. Merlin lets him stay lost in his thoughts as he tends to things and lays his bedclothes atop the partition for him to change. Arthur goes without a word, the only sounds in the room the rustling of fabric.

When he emerges, Merlin can’t help but grin at the sight of his hair – sticking up in all directions. It makes him look years younger, despite his solemn expression. Out of habit, Merlin reaches to fix it. He finds he can’t resist the urge to pull at it, though, messing it up even more. He expects Arthur to brush him away or fuss at him, but he lets Merlin touch him, without complaint. 

There’s a look in his eyes that catches Merlin off-guard. He sees the rapid rise and fall of Arthur’s chest. He realizes, then, how closely they’re standing.

Clearing his throat, he moves to set Arthur’s clothes aside, and then returns to turn down the bed. He can feel Arthur watching him. 

“Do I ask too much of you?”

Arthur’s voice is rough and Merlin has to catch his breath before he can answer.

“I'm your servant, I thought asking too much was the whole idea,” he jokes, fighting to steady his voice. 

“Would you tell me if I did?” Arthur presses.

Merlin is trembling so badly he has to brace his hands on the bed to steady himself. He hasn’t allowed himself to think about Arthur, like this, in so long. It was always a foolish fantasy. That’s what he told himself, anyway. Now all he can think about doing is pressing his mouth to Arthur’s skin to show him exactly what he could have, if he asked.

“Would you tell me,” Arthur persists, catching his arm, “if I asked too much?”

Merlin nods, because that’s easier than telling Arthur that he _can’t_ ask too much, that there’s nothing Merlin wouldn’t do for him, destiny or not.

“You never answered me earlier, when I asked about being my servant… Am I really so bad?”

He looks so vulnerable as he waits for Merlin’s answer and Merlin’s heart is pounding.

“No,” he says, honestly. “There is no king, no man, I’d rather serve than you.”

Arthur’s lips are on his and then gone before he can react.

Merlin raises his fingers to his mouth as he watches Arthur retreat to the edge of the bed. He sits there and begins to remove his boots, like nothing’s happened.

“Why did you do that?” Merlin asks.

Arthur’s cheeks are flushed.

“If you have to ask, then you’re an even bigger idiot than you look,” he says quietly, with none of the playful sting that his remarks usually carry.

Merlin kneels in front of him, feeling just brave (or is it reckless?) enough to get this close. He rests a hand on Arthur’s knee and squeezes, forcing Arthur to meet his gaze. 

“See?” he says gently, “you kiss me and then you say things like that and you wonder why I’m confused.”

“Well, you usually know better than to listen to me. You’re the only one… which is probably why-”

Merlin’s heart catches in his throat. “Why…?” he prompts.

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Why I like having you around.”

“Though I’m not always sure why you stay,” he admits, giving Merlin a forced smile, “since I am an arse to you most of the time.”

“Arthur,” Merlin sighs. “You’re a good man. Don’t pretend to be less than what you are.”

Arthur runs his thumb along Merlin’s cheek. “And you wonder why I kissed you,” he murmurs.

Merlin surges forward and captures his mouth, earning a moan from Arthur that sends a shiver through him. Arthur’s hands cup his face as he kisses him, desperately, like he’s afraid he’ll lose him.

He takes Arthur’s face in his hands and pulls away long enough to say what he needs.

“You may be the king, but I’m very stubborn and I _want_ to be here, which means there is nothing you can do to keep me from you.”

Arthur looks at him, incredulous. 

“That’s an awfully bold claim.”

Merlin can’t help but smile.

“I mean it, Arthur, I’m yours. Always have been.”

“Mine?” Arthur murmurs, leaning in and kissing the corner of his mouth, the line of his jaw. Merlin nods.

Arthur hums as he kisses down Merlin’s throat. “Mine,” he repeats, and Merlin can feel him smile as he says it, like he’s getting used to the thought. Merlin runs his fingers through his hair, again, encouraging.

Arthur’s hands stroke up and down his sides, impatient, _wanting_. Merlin’s skin is burning at the touch and he presses himself closer. Then, they’re tumbling back into the bed and Arthur is pushing and pulling at his clothes like he doesn’t know what he wants to do first. Merlin can relate; his own fingers are shaking as he tries to help. 

Arthur takes his hands and pins them against the sheets. He kisses his way along Merlin’s chest, nips at his stomach and smiles at Merlin’s answering moan.

Merlin always imagined Arthur would be like this – passionate, demanding, affectionate. He has these qualities all the time; Merlin sees shades of it, but never this unreservedly… and never entirely for him. It’s a heady sensation – makes him feel more powerful than ever as he touches and teases and coaxes his name from Arthur’s mouth in return.

Bodies together now, all they can seem to do is hold each other. Merlin doesn’t have a name for it… destiny, fate, love… it doesn’t matter because he knows Arthur can feel it too; in the way he kisses and clings and cries out.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Their night stretches on and on, together, and though Merlin wants it to be endless, he knows it can’t last.

Arthur is a good king; he will be a great king, and he needs Merlin, but not like this. Not yet. He wishes it could be different, more than he’s ever wished for anything. _Someday_ , he tells himself, but not now while they are still building this life, this kingdom, and finding their place in it all… not while secrets linger between them. 

So, while Arthur sleeps beside him, Merlin watches. He takes in every movement – every shadow and glimpse that he can – and he waits until the first light of the day begins to creep into the sky before he does what he must.

“Someday,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to Arthur’s forehead.

With that promise, Merlin closes his eyes, stretches out his hand and makes it all no more than a dream. 

It’s the hardest thing he’s ever done.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

As he stands outside Arthur’s room, preparing to bring him his breakfast, he has a moment where he doesn’t think he can face him. Everything he does is to protect Arthur, to help him, and now he’s hurt him… he’s hurt both of them and Arthur doesn’t even know.

That part is, by far, the worst.

When he finally knocks and pushes open the door, it feels like the weight of it is crushing him.

He tries to act normally and respond to Arthur’s usual comments, but he fears it’s a weak attempt. Arthur even seems to notice and asks if he’s feeling ill. 

Merlin lies and says he’s fine.

“You’re not fine, you look horrible.”

“I’m just hungry,” Merlin mumbles, hoping it sounds believable enough for Arthur. He shifts restlessly from foot to foot.

“Well then, here,” Arthur offers, gesturing to the chair beside him, “sit with me.”

Merlin stares at him. 

“You want me to eat with you?” he asks cautiously. “You’ve never let…”

Merlin trails off, surprised at the warmth he sees in Arthur’s expression.

“You make me sound heartless," he teases. “Am I so horrible?” 

Merlin closes his eyes and lets out a shaky breath.

“Come on,” Arthur says, nudging his arm, “I’m not, am I?”

Merlin says the only thing he can: “There’s no one I’d rather serve.”

Arthur’s eyes are bright. He has that look, the one he gets when he’s trying to figure out something. Merlin has to turn away.

“Is there anything else, Sire?” he manages.

“No,” Arthur replies softly, after a moment, “no, I suppose not.”

Merlin thinks he must be imagining the disappointment in Arthur’s voice as he turns and leaves.


End file.
